Memoriam
by blumoone
Summary: After decades with Pam, Tara learns the final piece of the puzzle that is her Maker's past.


**A/N: Hello folks! So this idea has been in my head for a while and I finally found the time to write it out. If you do like what you read, please review, they give me life! I refuse to let this ship die, I love them far too much! Happy Reading ^_^**

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Tara liked to think that she knew her Maker like the back of her own hand. She knew when Pam was angry, she knew when Pam was sad, and she knew when Pam was incandescently happy without even having to rely on the bond that steadily pulsed between them. She knew that Pam's favorite blood type was AB- just because of how rare it was and how hard it was to procure. Tara knew that Pam relished in the hunt and her favorite sort of human to feed on was a cross between a remorseless criminal and a female still holding on to the tiniest shred of innocence. She knew that Pam loved being vampire more than a human might love their next breath. She knew that Pam's favorite thing about herself was the blue her eyes. She knew that Pam loved the finer things in life and would probably sacrifice herself for the wardrobe it had taken her over a century to acquire. She knew that Pam's favorite color was pink.

Tara also knew that her Maker had an affinity for yellow roses and white candles. But she had never understood why. It was evident that Pam did not want her to understand why. All Tara knew was that once a year, Pam excused herself for an hour and shut down her end of the bond to be alone. The first time it had happened, Tara had been alarmed, irrationally convincing herself that it had been something she had done. But when the hour had passed and Pam had returned to her, seemingly normal, her fears had been extinguished. And the blonde had not said anything of it, despite her progeny's incessant questions. In fact she had threatened to silver her if she didn't shut up and fuck her. But after the sex had ended Pam had clung to her tighter than Tara could ever remember being held before.

When the episode happened again, same day a year later, Tara had been better prepared. And so she had been each year thereafter.

But now, nearly two decades later, Tara's curiosity had reached the end of its tether. She understood the need for privacy however, it was beginning to get to her. She had pulled no stops when it came to opening herself to her Maker like a national bestseller and while she had never been one to pry, Tara couldn't help but feel slighted in knowing there was something about Pam that the blonde didn't trust her enough to know. She remembered how betrayed Pam had felt when Eric had kept her out of his business regarding Godric and Nora and even though twenty years paled in comparison to a century, all she wanted to do was help.

And so here it was, the night that had been like so many before it when Pam would leave their bed and sequester herself for the better half of the evening. With half mast eyes, Tara watched her lover slip into a silk kimono like robe, gathering her blonde hair in one hand to toss it behind her so it fell down her back in golden waves. Tara bit her lower lip as the older vampire made to quietly exit the room, debating with herself whether she would speak or let it go as she had down for so many years. As the knob turned, she decided it was either now or never.

"Pam," she murmured on a whisper, sitting up in bed, the silk sheets slipping revealing her bare ebony shoulders and chest, "Baby, where are you going?"

Pam's hand stopped on the knob, yet she did not turn to face her progeny. She was quiet for a long moment to the point that Tara figured she would be ignored. But she had been prepared for that.

"I have something to do," came Pam's cryptic response. The tone though that curled around the words like smoke was what gave Tara pause, however. The words were spoken around the promise of tears. But where Tara thought her Maker might leave it at that and continue on to do whatever it was that she was going to do, she merely stood there at the door.

"Why always this night?" the ebony skinned vampire mustered up the courage to see, taking Pam's presence as permission to continue, "You always disappear on the same night of the year, shut down your end of the bond, and come back to me smelling like roses and _rain_." Pam's sadness always smelled like spring rain to Tara and it was an unmistakable fragrance that countered the lavender and vanilla that usually flooded her nostrils whenever her Maker was near.

Another spell of silence passed between the two of them and Tara very nearly gave up this time, ready to accept the fact that there was somethings about Pam that the blonde was unwilling to divulge and though it made her feel a type of way, she could not force anyone and especially not her lover to reveal secrets when they weren't ready.

But then Pam spoke again. "You can come if you want." And with that she left the room, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Tara rose from the bed, conflicting emotions consuming her as she stared a moment at the now empty spot where Pam had stood moments before. She was uncertain now as she pulled a black ribbed tanktop over her head and slipped into a pair of mesh shorts. She didn't know what she would be walking into and felt as if she really had intruded, despite her Maker's invitation and it was clear that had she not pried, the invitation would not have been given.

Sucking in a deep though unnecessary breath, Tara left the room, following the scent of her Maker to one of the spare rooms in their palatial underground cubby that they used as a den. The floor was covered in an antique Persian carpet, a chaise longue sat on the far end of the room, bookshelves lined the walls save but one which bore an ornate faux fireplace and mantel. Pam stood before the mantel, turning to face Tara when she sensed her progeny enter the room.

"Look," Tara began upon catching the unreadable expression on her Maker's face that made her feel uneasy, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. If you want to be by yourself, it's cool, I'll just wait for you in the room."

"It's fine," Pam said, crossing the room to take Tara's hands into hers, "It's time I told you anyway. Come." She led Tara to the chaise, pulling gently so that they were sitting side by side, their shoulders touching and Tara felt instantly secure from her Maker's nearness.

"We've been together for a long time, you and I," the blonde said, playing with the ebony fingers she still held in her grasp, "And being vampire, all we have is time. But no matter how many decades and centuries pass, there are still pieces of human lives that remain."

Had Tara been human, she would have realized she had been holding her breath. As an immortal she didn't need to breathe yet she sat pretenaturally still as she listened to Pam's preamble. Pam didn't speak much of human life and when she did, her tone was usually cut with disdain and disgust. She knew well of Pam's life as the madame of a San Francisco brothel, her years before then as a top paid lady of the night, and bits and pieces about her childhood and adolescence in England and the trail of broken hearts she had left behind. But something told her this tale the blonde was about to weave was nothing like what she had heard before.

Pam rose and walked over to the mantel, the hem of her kimono style robe swishing around her ankles as she walked. She plucked something from the shelf and returned to Tara on the chaise. In her hands, she held a small though ornate pewter picture frame. With a soft sigh, she passed it to her ebony skinned lover.

Behind the glass of the frame was an old photograph, the sepia image cracked and creased around the edges. But Tara paid no attention to that. Her eyes were locked on the little girl depicted in the photo. She had to be no older than three, her hair style in ringlets with a large white bow. Her features were as delicately innocent as any child that age and a small smile tugged at the corners of her full lips. She wore a white dress with buttons, ankle socks with lace, and pretty small shoes. With her hands folded in her lap, she looked almost angelic.

"Is this you?" Tara asked, a midnight kissed finger tracing the child's face affectionately as is to store it forever in her memory.

"Her name was Charlotte," was the soft reply, "She was my daughter."

Stunned, Tara turned wide eyes on her Maker at the revelation. "I thought you never - "

"Had any rug rats," Pam murmured with a roll of her eyes, "Well, when you live the life of a hooker, accidents do happen." Though her tone was dry, the drawl carrying the usually lick of cool sarcasm, Tara could not help but notice the almost reverent way Pam eyed the old photograph.

"I tried everything I could to terminate the _pregnancy_ ," the word uttered like an expletive, "but I was too far along. And then, a couple months later, after hours of a hell I would rather silver myself in a coffin for a thousand years than to go through again, out she popped, right in the gallery of the brothel I was to inherit. And nearly killed me in the process."

Tara was quiet for a long moment, letting her Maker's tale sink in as her eyes roved over the photograph of Charlotte. She was the spitting image of Pam. Or of what Pam must have looked like as a little girl. That the ebony skinned vampire could not deny. She was a beautiful child.

"What happened to her?" she murmured, though a part of her already knew the answer.

"She died when she was three. Diphtheria. Choked to death in her sleep." Pam sighed softly, her eyes taking on a far away look, "Around the same time I was riding some meat sack's three inch dick."

"I – I'm so sorry," Tara said, looking up at her Maker with wide sympathetic eyes. She did not know what to say. There was nothing that seemed to be able to be the right thing in her extensive vocabulary that seemed like the right thing to say. "That's terrible," she decided on, cringing slightly at the words that just didn't seem like enough.

"That was over a hundred years ago Tara. And a decade before I met Eric. It's in the past," Pam said, gently taking the photograph from her progeny's hand before rising and placing it back on the mantel, "But I still like to pay my respects."

Tara watched solemnly as Pam lit a white candle before the small frame. She could smell fresh roses and knew without having to look that they were yellow.

"Her favorite color," Pam muttered turning back to face the younger vampire, "I still remember that. Everything else though, it's hardly more than a blur."

Tara vamp sped to her Maker then, enveloping her in strong, midnight kissed arms. "Is today her birthday?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled as her lips were pressed in between the crook of Pam's neck and shoulder.

"It is."

"Well happy birthday Charlotte. And thank you, for telling me. I love you, Pamela."

"I love you too." The phrase spoken as if a weight had been lifted. And it truly had. Pam sighed softly, turning out of Tara's embraced to blow out the candle before leading her progeny out of the room.


End file.
